Untold Tales of The Sandman
by Scottenkainen
Summary: Come with us back to the Golden Age of Comics, and untold adventures of the Golden Age Sandman and Sandy. You've seen their adventures on the covers of Adventure Comics, but the stories that went with them have never been told - until now!


_A visit from the Sandman is a dream come true for the just and a nightmare for the wicked! Many a crook has been haunted by anxiety dreams about running into the Sandman before running afoul of him - but what would happen if the Sandman himself began to have dreams portending some grave danger? Find out now, in…_ _ **"The Tough Guy"!**_

 **By Scott Casper**

 **Based on the cover to Adventure Comics #92**

The Sandman stuck to the drier ledge in the sewer tunnel, watching ahead, but also swinging his flashlight beam back and forth over the whole tunnel so he would not miss any tracks of the criminals. He held his wirepoon gun tight in his right hand and the flashlight in his left. Up ahead, he could see the tunnel intersected with a larger, perpendicular tunnel.

The dry ledge ended at the intersection, but the dirty water did not look deep in the larger tunnel, which was itself about 12 feet in diameter. The Sandman stepped cautiously into the water and found it rose no higher than his ankle. Comfortable in his waterproof boots, the Sandman stepped further into the tunnel. The smaller tunnel extended slightly into the larger tunnel, keeping the Sandman from being able to see the six-foot high ledge recessed behind the smaller tunnel wall. He could not see the four hoodlums waiting in ambush on the recessed ledge, watching gleefully as the Sandman slowly stepped into the sights of a machine gun mounted on the ledge. He could not see the cruel leer of the tough guy behind the machine gun, but when the tough guy pulled the trigger-

Wesley Dodds woke up.

June 29, 1944

Dodds Manor, Philadelphia

Wesley Dodds woke up with a start and a rapidly beating heart. From a nightmare? Wesley could not remember the last time he had a nightmare. "Gosh, so that's what they're like!" Wesley said out loud, half-jokingly, as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He tried to laugh it off, and tried again later at the breakfast table.

The breakfast table Wesley and Sandy used on such a nice summer morning was out on the veranda, a small table that seated four.

"I haven't got enough pennies in my allowance to cover all those thoughts," Sandy joked.

"Haha," Wesley said. Actually, he gave Sandy a generous allowance, but he was not going to debate the issue over poached eggs. "Are you ready for school?"

"As I'll ever be," Sandy said glumly. "You sure the Sandman won't need me today?"

"Not until tonight. Wesley Dodds is needed at a board meeting today."

And he was. It was an important meeting of the Dodds-Bessing Steel Corporation, a billion-dollar company that made the Dodds their fortune. The board wanted to discuss long-term plans for transitioning out of wartime manufacturing, but Wesley found he was doodling through much of the discussion and not paying attention. His doodles, in fact, resembled the sewer tunnels of his dream, the concealed ledge, and the machine gun nest.

"Mr. Dodds?"

Wesley leaned back in his chair and looked around the board room. He scarcely knew any of the other executives for, though he still had controlling interest in the company, and it was his father's portrait hanging in front of the long mahogany table. Wesley was more interested by banking than manufacturing and spent more time preparing for bank board meetings, but had to admit to himself that he was growing increasingly irregular in attending those as well. Compared to a life of adventure and danger as the Sandman, corporate life had begun to seem like death to him. But if a life of adventure led only to being gunned down in a sewer someday…

"I'm sorry, what was the question again?"

"I said, do you think we should take them now?" Sandy asked.

It was nighttime and this was the second time that day Wes needed to be prompted, as distracted as he was. There was something so strange about his dreams of late, something that seemed to command that he remember and pay attention to them. But Sandman and Sandy were in costume now and atop a low roof, watching a group of three robbers fleeing a jewelry store across the street towards a getaway car with an impatient driver and its motor idling.

"I think we should slow them down first…" the Sandman said as he took aim with his wirepoon gun. The car was not moving yet and the back left tire was an easy target. One shot and they had a flat tire and Sandman had a steel wire with a barbed tip attached to their car. Before they could take notice of it, Sandman tied his gun off to a metal chimney to pull the wire taught. "Follow me down," Sandman told Sandy. He dove over the side of the building, grabbed the wire, and slid down the length of it; the thick palms of his gloves protecting his hands as he did so.

The robbers were daring, trying this in the Sandman's city, and they did not seem particularly cautious; the Sandman was almost to the ground before one of them happened to look his way. _Then_ they began to panic and reached for their weapons. If the Sandman hit the ground running, they might have time to draw on him, so the Sandman didn't; he swung up and launched himself off his line, using his momentum to hit the driver's side passenger seat window feet-first hard enough to smash right through - and then his feet smashed into the hoodlum next to the window.

"Get us out of here!" the front seat passenger barked to the driver, but everyone could hear the back left tire going _flop flop flop_ as they drove on it flat.

"Oh no oh no," the driver was saying, glancing back so often at the Sandman that he barely noticed he was veering off the road.

The Sandman hauled himself into the back seat, reached across to the right back passenger and belted him across the face just as the thick-necked goon was cocking a revolver, but it was then that the car went over the curb and hit a fire hydrant, throwing the Sandman off-balance and half into the front seat.

"You!" the Sandman shouted in surprise as he found himself face-to-face with the front seat passenger, who reminded him of a face from his dreams.

There was nothing in the crook's face that betrayed any special recognition, but he looked startled and scared enough just to have the Sandman face-to-face with him. "Someone plug him! Hurry!" the crook said as he threw his door open and tumbled backwards out of his seat.

The Sandman elbowed the driver in the face and kicked the gunman in the back seat he had punched before, then scrambled out of the car after the robber who was getting away. The fleeing robber was heading straight for Sandy, who was down on the street now and running to catch up to the stopped car.

"Sandy, look out!" the Sandman called out.

The robber had pulled a gun and reached out to grab Sandy, no doubt intending to use him as a hostage, but Sandy grabbed the outstretched arm and threw the larger man over his shoulder with some well-honed Jiu-Jitsu.

"Sandman, behind you!" Sandy called out.

The driver of the vehicle was out now and, ignoring his bloody nose, was taking aim with a Tommy gun.

"The alley! Hurry!" the Sandman shouted. Sandman and Sandy met at the nearby alley entrance and Sandman pushed his junior partner inside just before bullets tore through the shop window behind the Sandman. More bullets glanced off the brickwork even closer as the gunman was finding the range and nearing his mark, but the Sandman dived into the alley and dodged being hit.

"Sandy, distract him high!" Sandman said as he cupped his hands.

"And you hit him low?" Sandy asked as he jumped into the Sandman's hands and was thrown up to the ledge on the upper floor of the alley. Sandy balanced on the slender edge out to the corner and leaned out. "Hey, swollen nose! You going to try to hit me with that gun or attack stores all night?"

Sandy ducked back into the alley in time before gunshots rang out again, but while that was happening, the Sandman snatched up a garbage can lid and sprinted out of the alley. He spun around and tossed the can lid like an Olympic discus thrower, hitting the gunman in the face after barely aiming. The goon kept firing, but his shots were wild now and not coming anywhere near the Sandman as the golden vigilante charged at and tackled him. The Sandman delivered a knockout punch that drove the back of the hoodlum's skull into the pavement.

"Sandy!" the Sandman called out. The Sandman jumped up and looked around as Sandy came bounding out of the alley. "Did you see where the last one went?"

"I lost sight of him!" Sandy said, sounding frustrated and upset now. "Do you suppose that was the leader?"

"Yes - but also the man from my dreams."

"What's that mean?" Sandy asked.

"I don't know...except that we'd best keep an eye on jewelry stores for the next few nights."

Meanwhile, a safe distance away, an escaped thief smugly thought to himself, _I escaped the Sandman tonight! Maybe he's not unstoppable after all. In fact, that gives me a great idea to incorporate into my next job..._

June 30, 1944

13th & Market Streets, Philadelphia

The Sandman and Sandy sat in the front seat of a custom '40 Ford Cabriolet at the curb outside a hotel by the corner. From here, they were within two blocks of three different jewelry stores. The police band squawked softly on the radio, but had yet to reveal anything telling.

They sat in silence; the Sandman was afraid to tell Sandy that he had the same dream again last night. The same sewer, the same men, and the same fatal ambush. He said nothing because the Sandman feared - though he knew he should not - that if he spoke he would tell everything and that speaking about the dream would lend it some power to become real. It was crazy thinking, the sort of thinking he worked hard to make the criminals he pursued believe.

They could hear a burglar alarm sounding in the distance before confirmation began to come in over the police band. "That's got to be coming from Armstrong's on 15th!" the Sandman said. "Let's go!"

The roadster peeled from the curb, expertly weaving through the light, late-night traffic on its way to 15th Street.

"There, Sandman, look!" Sandy called out.

In the street ahead was Armstrong's and, right there in the street, were some suspicious-looking characters fleeing down a manhole into the sewers.

The sewers.

The roadster skidded to a stop right by the open manhole and Sandy was the first to jump out.

"Sandy, wait!" the Sandman called as he stepped out of the car. Instead of chasing after, the Sandman paused and opened a briefcase he had pulled out from under his seat. Inside were some alternate weapons he had considered equipping himself with, just in case his dream proved this prophetic. There was, held in molded plastic inside the open case, his gas gun, now long-gone unused. There was even his service revolver from his days in the Great War. The situation below might call for either or both of these weapons.

But the Sandman felt guilty for even considering these possibilities. Had he not, after all, shunned firearms for his gas gun when he started his career, for the added danger of relying on a less deadly weapon? And, when the gas gun proved too useful, had he not discarded that as well in favor of the wirepoon gun? If he survived this adventure, but only by falling back on better weaponry, would he be able to go back to living dangerously? And would adventuring grow stale and boring to him without the danger level pushed as high as it could go?

"They're getting away, Sandman!" Sandy said, impatiently, like a kid who couldn't wait to open his Christmas presents.

The Sandman closed the case, put it back under his seat, and produced a flashlight instead. He raced over to Sandy, but only to put a gloved hand on Sandy's shoulder. "This job's going to be too dangerous," the Sandman said softly. "I need you to wait up here."

"But-"

"Sandy, I need you to wait up here. _Please_."

There was something so serious, so pleading, in his voice that it gave Sandy pause. The boy stepped back, and the Sandman went down into the sewer alone.

The Sandman switched on the flashlight while he held the ladder down with one hand. The flashlight beam swung back and forth under an empty sewer tunnel with two ledges, one higher and drier and the other shorter and covered in wet muck. Despite his dream premonition, he still had to check to see if the ambush would be right away at the ladder. There was no sign of the crooks here, so they had run down the tunnel. To lead him into a trap, or simply to flee?

The Sandman stuck to the drier ledge in the sewer tunnel, watching ahead. He held the flashlight in his off-hand and unholstered the wirepoon gun to hold in his right, swinging his flashlight beam back and forth over the whole tunnel so he would not miss any tracks of the criminals. Up ahead, he could see the tunnel intersected with a larger, perpendicular tunnel.

The dry ledge ended at the intersection, but the dirty water did not look deep in the larger tunnel, which was itself about 12 feet in diameter. The Sandman stepped cautiously into the water and found it rose no higher than his ankle. Comfortable in his waterproof boots, the Sandman stepped further into the tunnel. The smaller tunnel extended slightly into the larger tunnel, so that the Sandman could not see if there was indeed a six-foot high ledge recessed behind the smaller tunnel wall. He could not see if there were four hoodlums waiting in ambush on the recessed ledge, waiting for the Sandman to walk into their trap.

The whole walk this far, the Sandman had been thinking about if the dream would come true or not, but also what to do if it _was_ true, and how to prevent from being ambushed at that corner. And it occurred to him that there might be a way to deal with this without even needing the wirepoon, yet, if he could find what he needed amongst the debris littering the tunnel. Indeed, he barely had to backtrack to find a big, soggy piece of heavy cardboard. He holstered the wirepoon gun, picked up the cardboard, and clicked off his flashlight, plunging the tunnels into darkness.

A moment later, the Sandman tossed the heavy cardboard into the middle of the larger tunnel, where it splashed loudly in the shallow standing water. A moment after that, the tunnels erupted with the sound of gunfire as a machine gun chattered away. The muzzle flare was definitely coming from around the corner to the right, on what must surely be a raised ledge.

After 10 seconds of nothing but gunshots and water splashing, there was sudden silence, punctuated by a rough voice saying, "Switch it on, see if we got 'em."

A floodlight, sighting on the ambush ledge, was switched on by one of three new hoodlum accomplices of the jewelry store thief who had got away. By its bright light, they could see the Sandman - reaching right over the ledge, grabbing the front leg of the tripod the machine gun rested on, and yanking hard.

"Stop him!" the thief howled, but it was too late, as the machine gun was pulled off-balance and toppled forward off the ledge. "Somebody plug 'em!"

The hoodlums had sidearms, but not at the ready, so confident had they been in the Army surplus machine gun they had acquired. While they drew their guns from concealed holsters, the Sandman had his wirepoon gun in hand and used it - to shoot the floodlight. _Crash_! The harpoon-tip smashed through the glass. There was a brief surge in brilliance and then the floodlight went out altogether, plunging the tunnel into darkness once more.

"I'll get a back-up light, but keep firing!" the thief told the others. Shots began to ring out, one after the other, echoing up and down the tunnel, before the thief managed to turn on a flashlight and begin shining it around. There was no sign of the Sandman below, but that was because the Sandman had used the darkness to conceal himself as he swung up onto the ledge and get back on his feet. When the flashlight beam fell on the Sandman - he was standing right in their midst.

 _Pow!_ A hard left punched the nearest hoodlum, knocking him backwards off the ledge. The next closest hoodlum was lifting his handgun to bring it bear, but the Sandman was faster, grabbed the hoodlum's arm, and swung him around. A kick to the backside knocked the second hoodlum into the third, sending them both tumbling off-balance until the third hoodlum accidentally pulled the second hoodlum over the side of the ledge while trying to catch his balance. The thief was last, and he had time to have his gun out by now. Before the thief could aim it, the Sandman had grabbed his gun arm and yanked it down while kicking the wrist with his knee. The thief's hand opened up reflexively and the gun dropped to the ledge. The thief voluntarily dropped his flashlight to free up his other hand. Eerily uplit from the flashlight, the thief struggled and grappled with the Sandman with both hands, a maniacal look on his face.

"I can still kill you!" the thief shrieked. "I can still be the tough guy who took down the Sandman!"

The Sandman boxed the thief's ears, then lifted him off his feet in both hands. "Would you settle for being the guy who got tossed around like a sack by the Sandman?"

Two of the hoodlums were back on their feet, though drenched in filthy sewer water. They had managed to upright the machine gun and were getting set up to begin shooting it again up towards the ledge, but the Sandman threw the thief down right on top of them, sending all three of them toppling back down into the sewage.

"And what happened next?" Sandy asked. It was much later and Sandy had traded his costume for pajamas. He was in bed now, but Sandy had insisted Wesley come in his room and tell him more.

"That took most of the fight out of them. I tied them up in their own shirts and led them out while I kept a flashlight and the ol' Wirepoon pointed at them. You know the rest, when we came up topside."

"And what about the dream? Don't you think it had to be more than coincidence?"

"Well...I'm not sure about that. I think I'll sleep on it."

And Wesley Dodds did sleep, and slept well. But he also had a dream that night, which made him wake up with a start. He might have thought nothing of it, if not for his strange dreams of the last few nights. But now, what he had dreamt startled him, and the realization of what he had dreamt shocked him into saying it out loud.

"Dian was still alive!"


End file.
